Fallout
by petite etoile22
Summary: AU Series 7 One-Shot. Ros and Lucas deal with the aftermath of the finale.


_**Author's Note:** I have used my artistic licence liberally here, but this is fic. If you can't use it here where else can you use it?_

_**Disclaimer:** Spooks and the affiliated characters belong to the BBC and Kudos productions._

* * *

_"You should both leave."_

_"Hurry up." Ros orders coldly._

_"I thought you weren't nervous?" Connie mocks slightly._

_"I'm not."_

_"Fine. Stay." Connie hisses as she clicks the locks, revealing the bomb. Lucas says nothing; these women need their last sparring match. A part of him even thinks they were what kept each other from swinging to far either side._

_But ever-present in the background is that tinnitus indicating a ticking bomb. Lucas looks across and can see Ros calmly counting down the seconds. He can't help but wonder if there's any type of death that scares her._

_Connie cuts the wire in one swift movement._

_Silence._

_Followed by a higher pitched, more deadly tinnitus._

_"...if I do that, the bomb can't reach critical mass and will no longer be nuclear. It will, however, go up in my face."_

_They wait in silence as Connie prepares her own unique form of suicide._

_"...it's just a bomb now, and I'm not afraid of bombs..."_

* * *

Neither are Lucas and Ros. They've seen too many go off to be afraid. Connie is taunting him about Russia, and then she announces that she sold him out.

Ros pulls him into a nearby side-tunnel and they cling to each other as the bomb detonates. They only let go once the ringing stops; a pitch they will never hear again.

Ros looks at him through dust covered lashes.

"You need to get that seen to." She whispers.

They make it halfway up the stairs before they find themselves in the steel grip of the haz-mats.

Connie was wrong.

It wasn't just a bomb.

It was two more ticking clocks.

Lucas merely grits his teeth as they bombard him with the freezing shower water; he's endured worse during his incarceration. Ros stands against the cold white tiles and makes no movement as they blast her with the hose too. She's either stoic or catatonic; Lucas suspects that he has unfortunately discovered the death that scares Rosalind Sarah Myers. They sit together on a hard wooden bench, both feeling distinctly uncomfortable in their white bodysuits. Neither one of them says a word as Harry enters the room, though Lucas takes Ros's hand in his own when he spots her noticing Harry's grave eyes.

"So?" He asks hoarsely.

"They don't know. You have been advised to take these, though."

Harry slides two pill bottles across the formica table.

"Iodine tablets?" Lucas queries. "For how long?"

"Six months. They'll have a clearer picture then."

"You mean they'll have plucked up the courage to tell us we're as good as dead?" Ros breathes. It's the first time she's spoken in over four hours.

"Rosalind-"

"Is there any point of taking these?"

"There's always a point."

"I'll take that as a no then."

* * *

Ros allows herself to lose control for one brief moment upon her return to the safehouse which is her humble abode. The tears which slip down her pristine and decontaminated face seem almost invisible. She shatters yet another mirror and sits amongst the shards of silver glass, not caring if they cut into the delicate flesh of her hands and feet.

She screams.

And then she cries.

And then she sobs.

They've killed them both.

They've killed her.

And they didn't even have the decency to make it quick.

Lucas lies on his hard mattress, unable to sleep. Any nightmare Connie hoped to extinguish with her revelation, has just been replaced by a new one. He thinks that there's a prejudice in their line of work; acceptable and unacceptable ways to die. Lucas finds that the most acceptable ways to die appear to be the most horrific. No one in their job wants to die, but if the inevitable were to happen, they each have their own preferred way to go.

Resisting torture.

Saving a colleague.

Saving a civilian.

Standing up to the enemy.

Even being blown to kingdom come.

He's pretty sure none of them would choose slowly being poisoned to death over years, all because of a nuclear bomb that wasn't really a nuclear bomb.

He wouldn't.

Ros certainly wouldn't.

But it got chosen for them all the same.

* * *

Despite the apparent futility of the iodine tablets, they take them anyway to please Harry. The six months pass, and they're handed their death sentences. It will be slow and painful, and will probably come in the form of cancer. Worse thing is, they can't even give them a specific time. 1 month, 1 year, 10 years; they just don't know. Lucas will probably die first as he had an open wound at the time of exposure; then again, Ros is a mild asthmatic. They sit in a bar and raise a glass to the contents of the brown envelopes before them.

"Do you want to go out sometime?"

"You're not just saying that because I'm dying, are you?" Ros grins.

"No. I'd really like to take you out."

"Alright."

"You're not just saying 'yes' because I'm dying?" He jokes.

Turns out to be the best relationship either one of them has had. And though they're both dying, it's not morbid at all. In fact, it's rather fun. It is Ros who suggests that they pretend to be other people for their first date; the type of people they wanted to be when they were children. One last shot at making their dreams come true.

So on a Friday night, Ros falls in love with an architect, and Lucas discovers he wants to spend the rest of his life with a spanish teacher.

And Life seems to become so much clearer without the overbearing presence of those damn tablets.

They talk to Harry alone, late one night on the Grid. Ros sits in silence as Lucas leans heavily on the desk. She just looks at him and he suddenly feels like telling Harry isn't going to be as hard as he thought.

"We've stopped taking the tablets." He announces in muted tones. "We don't think it will make any difference."

"I understand."

And he does.

Harry knows the implications behind the decision they've made, and he admires them for choosing to go through with it regardless. And for that reason, he still sends them into the field despite everyone shrieking at him not to. But they called a vote and the whole of Section D agreed that it was best to carry on like they had always done.

And they do carry on.

And they seem to forget that two of their team mates are slowly dying.

Until the bombs begin to fall.

Ros finds it apt that he tells her he's got cancer in a graveyard of all places.

"I'm going to fight."

They both know he's going to lose.

Because although they didn't get radiation sickness, they still were exposed. And the effects are starting to show through their 'less than perfect' white blood cell count. A fact Ros is now made painfully aware of during Britain's frequent cold snaps. The once negligble asthmatic, now carries around two inhalers, and is banned from the field during these periods.

Ironically, despite the cancer and the weak lungs; Jo still dies before either of them.

* * *

Lucas gets the phone call late at night, barely a week after the funeral.

Ros has been taken into hospital.

"It's chest infection." Harry informs him sombrely.

Lucas makes a sound of acknowledgement and rushes to the hospital as fast as he can.

She smiles as he enters, and Lucas chooses to ignore the tubes weaving in and out of her nostrils, and the oxygen mask dangling from her neck.

"It's nothing to worry about." She mildly wheezes.

"Really? Coming from the asthmatic with a chest infection and below average white cell count?"

"Well, let's just see how things crinkle out." She grins; a painful reminder.

Six days later, Lucas collects his test results from the very same hospital, and almost feels guilty when they announce in glorious black and white, that he's now a man in remission. Ros lifts her heavy eyelids when he enters.

"So? Good...news?" She wheezes softly.

"I'm in remission."

"Congratulations."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like the whole...of the JIC...are having a meeting...on my ribcage. A very...angry one."

"The chest drain's helping though."

"Mmm, I no longer...cough up phlegm...a medical...miracle." She 'drawls'. It's reassuring to know that this malady hasn't affected her sarcasm.

"You look better." He comments, gently squeezing her hand; it's burning.

"For a spy...you're a...shit liar." She smiles; laughing is now beyond her. "They said...I can dis...discharge...myself tomorrow. Harry...says we can..stay at his."

Lucas nods, understanding the reason perfectly. They knew what was going to happen as soon as the infection was diagnosed as viral.

* * *

Harry stands to one side as Lucas wheels Ros into the spacious hallway. They move in silence towards the downstairs guest room. She weakly squeezes her mentor's hand in thanks. She has spent most of her life in Service buildings, and greatly appreciates the fact that she won't have to spend her death in one. They spend the week in peace, together.

On the first day, he reads to her. Magazines, Shakespeare, Dickens; anything but the news. They're not at work anymore.

On the second day, she tells him all about her career at Six.

On the third day, they watch all her favourite films. He brushes the tears from her cheeks when she cries.

On the fourth day, they talk about all the friends they have lost over the years.

On the fifth day, Harry joins them with a decanter of his finest malt; the one the team gave him all those years ago at his 'surprise' birthday celebration. They have a measure each; he only brings it out for births and deaths.

On the sixth day, they tell each other about their childhoods; the tenuous beings that existed before the Service moulded them into who they were now.

On the seventh day, Lucas learns that he loved a beautiful and misguided woman called Rosalind, and Ros learnt that she had spent the rest of her life with a kind and generous man called Lucas.

* * *

Harry stands before the two graves with Malcolm at his side.

The cancer got him in the end.

It took years, but it finally beat him.

Harry notes yet again, that he and Malcolm are the only ones left.

The fallout from countless explosions.


End file.
